I Will Be Waiting
by tec4cleveland
Summary: Something from the archives. A homefront story, told by Caje's sister in first person. This is what the LeMay family went through after "The Leader", when Caje was stabbed, as they waited for, and then received, notice of how he was injured.


**I WILL BE WAITING**

I watch my father and husband dig up the front lawn of the house I grew up in. For years, _Papa_ complained about how sparsely the lawn grew there and tried everything he could think of to make it better. This year, finally, it grew in the way he always wanted, and now they're tearing it up, _Papa_ and Armand, to put in a Victory Garden.

The two of them stop for a moment to rest. _Papa_ pushes back his hat and wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. Not a bandanna, not for Denis LeMay, the way that _Nonc_ Pierre or _Papère_ would, or even my brother Paul, if he was here. I wish he was.

 _Maman_ comes to watch over my shoulder. "It's too hot", she says in French, almost to herself. For a moment, I think she is going to go to the front door and get them to come in, but we see _Nonc_ Pierre and _Papère_ enter through the front gate, and both of us freeze.

The conflict between _Papa_ and _Nonc_ Pierre is very simple. Here you have two strong-minded, stubborn men who both love my brother very much and can't agree on a single thing about him. For _Papa_ , it is a matter of respect, the respect he doesn't think he gets from Paulie, especially when it comes to the choices _Papa_ has made for his son's life.

For _Nonc_ Pierre, it is that he thinks Paulie should be independent, to choose his own path. The latest battle in this family dispute is over Paulie and his best friend Theo going off together to fight in the war against the Nazis.

There's no question where _Nonc_ Pierre stands; when Martin Gautreaux came home paralyzed and in a wheelchair, he and T'eo's _nonc_ , Marcel Dubois, showed up at the Gautreaux house with a load of timber and built a new room for Martin, widening the doors in the house to make it easier for Martin to get around. Of course, they refused to accept any payment from Martin or his family. They won't talk about it, but _Maman_ says that she thinks neither of them can forget the things they saw when they served in World War I. When I wrote Paulie about it, his next letter said that helping Martin probably laid some ghosts for both of them. I guess he'd understand that better than I can.

It's not as though _Papa_ objects to the war as such. Lots of our boys have left to fight and he's gone with his friends to see their sons off. I know, too, that he has bought Victory Bonds and slipped money to young families whose fathers will never come home again. He'd give all the money he has; he just doesn't want to give his son. Now that I have a son of my own, I have a little more sympathy for his viewpoint – or I would, if I wasn't so bothered by his desire to control Paulie's life.

Sadly, _Papa_ has more ammunition for his fears and for his position in this fight. Theo Dubois died in action the first day of the invasion, D-Day as they call it. I can't imagine how Paulie survived that. He and Theo were like brothers – closer, in fact, if you look at my father and his brother. Paulie and Theo had a strong relationship. I can't remember them ever squabbling, or at least not for long.

Since then, Paulie has been wounded a number of times, once seriously, when he and his squad were fighting alongside the British. At least that's what the letter from his lieutenant explained. We just found out that he has been wounded again, but we've received nothing more as of yet. _Papa_ has grown querulous and easily irritated and we all dread the mail or the sound of footsteps and bicycle bells.

I miss my brother a lot. He'd have wanted to be the first one to hold my and Armand's son Philippe. He loves kids, and I hope he gets home to get married and have his own.

When we were kids, Paulie was my defender. He stood up for me when I wanted to do things and _Papa_ put his foot down – he was the only person who could talk _Papa_ around, oddly enough - and no one dared insult me or treat me badly when he was there. He was always my _parfait gentil_ knight. Of course, he'd laugh so hard if he knew what I was thinking. _Hélène_ , he'd say, _you've been reading too many romances. I'm just an ordinary guy – don't get carried away_. And then he'd give me a big hug and go get us both some ice cream or one of _Maman_ 's desserts and we'd sit on the side porch and just talk and laugh.

 _Papa_ is ignoring _Nonc_ Pierre. I can tell from _Nonc_ Pierre's irritated expression and _Papère_ 's resigned look. Armand doesn't look too happy either. He comes back to the house. I guess he has decided that to retreat was the better part of valor. I don't blame him for that. _Papère_ has given up _aussi_ ; he stops and gives his sons one last look before coming in.

 _Maman_ sighs and pours Armand and _Papère_ glasses of lemonade. Hélène, are they coming in too?

Non, _Maman_ … I pause, watching them. For a moment, it looks as though they are arguing. Then _Nonc_ Pierre puts his hand on _Papa_ 's shoulder. _Papa_ says something back and then they begin digging up the lawn together.

Actually, unless they agreed to dig each other's graves, _Maman_ , I say, smiling, it looks as though they've made up for now. Again.

Bon. _Papère_ shook his head. Before God, I don't know why they need to fight all t'e time. When I t'ink how close they used to be …

Then I see the mailman and something about my stillness catches my husband's attention.

What is it, _ma chère_? Armand joins me at the window.

Just M'sieu' Lanoux with t'e mail.

 _Maman_ puts her glass down decisively and starts for the door. Maybe t'ey finally sent us somet'ing about Paulie.

I reach out and stop her. Wait, _Maman_. _Papa_ has it and he and _Nonc_ Pierre are coming in.

They enter the kitchen, _Papa_ carrying a single envelop, _Nonc_ Pierre behind him with the rest of the post, which he lays on the little table by the sofa.

Denis, is it -?

He holds the letter up so we can all see the handwriting. Suddenly, I realize I don't want to know what it says, and no one else seems to want to either. After what seems like an hour, but was really only a few seconds, _Papa_ rips it open convulsively and takes the enclosure out.

My heart stops as he reads, and suddenly, horribly, he begins to weep.

Denis? _Maman_ reaches for him, and the letter falls to the ground. He clings to her and she helps him to the living room, where they sit together, rocking back and forth. Ah, Denis, what is it?

I am afraid to pick up the letter, afraid of what it might say, but I do. _Oh, Paulie ... oh, no._

" **Dear Mr. LeMay:**

 **I am sorry to have to write you again about your son.**

 **I know this will be difficult for you to read. We were engaged in holding off the enemy and Private LeMay was set to keep watch. He was attacked by Germans and was stabbed in the abdomen. Although we have told his squad mates that he will be all right, the truth is that he is gravely injured and has had to undergo surgery.**

 **He is presently in England for treatment and when I have any further details, you will be informed as soon as it is possible for the doctors there to do so.**

 **Please know that our thoughts and prayers are with you, your family and your son, who is a valued member of my unit.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Lieutenant Gilbert Hanley**

 **Second Platoon, 361st Infantry, King Company"**

Armand holds me and tries to comfort me. Then _Nonc_ Pierre takes the letter from me and he and _Papère_ read it together.

 _Papère_ staggers and _Nonc_ Pierre catches him blindly. There is shock on his face, and guilt. _Nonc Pierre, it's not your fault!_

He helps _Papère_ to a chair and then sits down himself, off-balance and with a lack of grace that is very unlike him. _Maman_ reaches for the letter and he gives it to her reluctantly. She reads it, turning white with shock, and _Papa_ holds her, as she, too, cries.

After some moments of general silence, punctuated only by our tears, I am shocked to hear a growl. It is _Papa_.

He stands unsteadily, glaring at _Nonc_ Pierre, teeth bared in a grimace of absolute fury. He grabs my unresisting uncle by the shirt and hauls him out of his chair. " _Fils de putain!_ _Jamais, jamais je ne veux à nouveau vous vous voyez dans ma maison._ " _Never do I want you in my house again_!

We all protest, but he pays us no mind. He pushes his brother to the front door and then pulls his arm back to slug him. _Papère_ and Armand look at one another, rise as one and try to pull them apart, Andre holding _Papa_ , and Armand supporting _Nonc_ Pierre. All four of them jump when I shout, unable to stand it anymore.

" _Arrêtez_! _Papa_! Stop it!" I was still crying, but now as much for the never-ending anger between these two men I love so, as for my brother. "Do you think Paul would want the two of you to fight like this?" I turned to my father. " _Papa_ , Paulie always tried to do what you wanted him to, but he wrote me many times when he was away and said he wanted a part in the war. _Nonc_ Pierre may have told him stories when he was a boy, but Paulie made up his own mind. You know that, if you are honest with yourself."

 _Papa_ lets go of _Nonc_ Pierre and nearly collapses against me. "I want _mon fils_ home," he says, emphatically, through his tears. "I want your brot'er safe. Paul! Paul …"

 _Maman_ rises slowly. For a moment, she looks confused, like a sleeper awakened from a deep dream. She meets my eyes and I know what she is thinking because it is what is in my mind as well. _This can't be true. This can't have happened_. She comes and puts her arms around both _Papa_ and me, and then I feel Armand beside me, and _Papère_. Only _Nonc_ Pierre stands apart from us. He watches for a moment and then walks slowly through the kitchen, opens the door and steps out onto the side porch.

I pull away and follow him outside. "Don't you dare leave, _Nonc_ - _Nonc_." We both called him that, Paulie and me, when we were just _p'tits_.

He stands and looks at me for the longest time, and gradually his hazel eyes, so like my brother's, fill with tears. One trickles down his cheek. He swallows hard, face set, trying not to lose control. I stand there with my arms open wide. He walks to me and hugs me, and then this strong, proud Cajun man cries like a child for my brother, for the nephew he loves like a son.

Much later, after the others leave, and Armand and I take Philippe and go home, I sit on our side porch and think. If I could have been by Paulie's side, if I could be there now, I would tell him how much I love him and how proud I am of him. And then I would find a way to bring him home so that he didn't have to be hurt any more, so that none of us have to be afraid that the day will bring a knock on the door and an Army chaplain with a mouth full of condolences.

I listen to the record Armand put on the player and pray for my brother. _Je t'aime, mon frère_. Wherever you are, Paulie, _je t'aime_. Come home well, _sha_. Come home soon. I shall be waiting.

\- 30 -


End file.
